


So, Space

by Tay Queen (Washedawaycloud)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens and humans, Drabble, Flash Fiction, Gen, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 09:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Washedawaycloud/pseuds/Tay%20Queen





	So, Space

“So, space, right?” The voice to her right is – hard to place. Is it lower than average, more tonal than she is used to hearing in this part of the world. She loves voices, the nuance of them, the different way mouths form words. But, even with that love firmly ingrained, firmly in place, this is a line if she’s ever heard one. Which, is a bit confusing, because – space? That’s it? That’s all she’s been given to either work with or ignore. 

Space.

“Did…did you just start a conversation with a complete stranger on the vague mention of space?” Her tone is higher than normal as she turns. She’s got to know who this person is. Are they a neckbeard? Was she about to get ‘splained to? Or would they be a hipster type, high off their ass, existential to the max. Maybe they’re just a student, or an artist or –

Completely normal, with eyes just a fraction too wide and too far apart for their face shape. Otherwise, normal. Exceedingly so. It’s almost a disappointment. 

“Well,” her stranger starts, leaning against the dessert bar as the next round is being served, voice dropping in volume. “I’m _from_ space, so that seemed like a reasonable course of action. Don’t you start conversations with strangers ever? What do you offer up as a start point? The weather? There’s an opener, stars, would you look at that precipitation? Going to ruin my whole month.”  A wry smile pulls over thin peachy colored lips. 

Anya is quiet, watching her stranger trying to piece together the joke. From space. Aren’t they all? Didn’t Neil deGrasse Tyson say that we are all made of star stuff? Or was that a different well-known astronomer type? She can’t place the name with the quote and it makes her huff, momentarily forgetting she’s just been verbally attacked. 

It maybe a gentle attack, but it was an attack all the same. A throat clearing jolts her from her thoughts and her eyes meet those of the stranger. Space stranger.  “I suppose I’ve started a conversation like that at least once. There’s nothing wrong with that sort of opener you know.” 

“Except when the weather is sunny and boring, and the conversation is going to die within seconds of it starting.” Deeper, the voice is deeper and more tonal than what she’s used to hearing. Not easy Asia tonal, or even south Asia tonal, it’s unplaceable.  Her brows furrow and she leans against the bar as well, now thoroughly engaged. 

“Openers are openers, they don’t have to carry the entire conversation. For instance, your dessert just came, try it, let’s see if that doesn’t spark something in you.” She nods at the plate and eyes it curiously. This place is all the rage these days, Avant Garde to the sky and back, but delicious. You get your money’s worth of calories and sugar here. It’s the best place to be on a Friday night, if you’re anyone who’s anyone that is. 

Anya isn’t anyone, and tonight is a fluke. A very odd, fluke. The stranger, who she hasn’t asked the name of yet, is carefully cutting into the orb on their plate. It gives her precious few seconds to give them a look over. Dark hair that shines in the light – a helluva diet and product regimen to achieve the look no doubt – small nose, slightly upturned, straight profile, high cheekbones, that jaw that screams ‘hero’ even if they’d never seen a single punch thrown their way. Curious, like this, at this angle, their face is perfect. 

Clothing is high end, she doesn’t have to touch to know that. You can’t see the threads or weave pattern, it must be so soft to the touch, that jacket. Pants with crisp ironed creases, shoes that appear to be leather. Expensive. With some taste. 

Conclusion: not for her to pursue, even if they are pursuing her. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not used to this sort of socialization,” her stranger draws her from her thoughts again, generous mouth what catches her eye this time. She must be harder up than she thought. Actively checking them out, actively engaging in a futile conversation that is going nowhere. 

“Would you feel better if I said it would go somewhere?” Their head tilts and Anya jerks a little. Had she spoken out loud again? Must have, or that is just very, very strange. “The conversation doesn’t have to. Go anywhere I mean. It can just be something to pass the time.” 

“Conversation for the sake of filling silence is wasteful.” 

“Of what?”

“Air, time –“

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Lips pull into a frown, brows furrow. “You’re already here, this time is gone. You’re already breathing, that air is gone. How is speaking a waste of either when you’re already using them?” 

“We need to listen to people more!” She protests, not entirely sure where this is coming from, how they got here from ‘So space’. 

“Do we? If you aren’t saying anything, what is there for me to listen to? For that matter, if we’re all listening, and no one is speaking, where will that take us?” 

“I – I don’t know.” 

“Right?” A laugh, low and pleasant, with a strange little flavor to it. “Some people need to make a little noise and some people need to listen to that noise. Then it can flip. The problem humans face is that everyone wants to be heard _now_ , no mind stops, mouths rarely stop, fights break out because no one takes the time to listen to the person speaking, preferring to just speak over them. So what needs to happen, is an actual conversation between people. Not just talking, not just listening. It needs to be an engagement.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I know. Most don’t.” 


End file.
